


we're gonna brush the sky

by mardia



Category: Good Wife (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-17
Updated: 2010-12-17
Packaged: 2017-10-13 17:55:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/140069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mardia/pseuds/mardia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six meals Alicia and Will shared together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we're gonna brush the sky

**Author's Note:**

  * For [trustingno1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/trustingno1/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [Коснуться неба](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2140788) by [sotofa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sotofa/pseuds/sotofa)



one: roommates

Alicia hasn't done anything so obvious as sigh loudly, or slam her book, or toss it across the room to show her frustration. But something in the set of her shoulders must clue Will in, because the next thing she knows, he's gently tugging away her textbook and saying, "Hey, indulge me here for a second, will you?"

Alicia blinks at him, but waits patiently while he runs over to his bedroom and comes out with one of the three ties he owns—and the ugliest tie, at that. "Are you finally getting rid of that thing?" she asks curiously.

Will grins with half his mouth. "Not just yet," he says, sitting down next to her and—

"Wait, Will—" But Will's already looping the tie around her head, covering her eyes so that the world's gone dark.

"Just trust me for a second," Will says, his breath tickling her ear. He knots the tie at the back of her head, and Alicia feels him getting off the couch, the rustling noises of him moving around the living room doing God knows what.

After a few moments, she asks, "Will, what are you up to?"

"Just relax," Will says, which isn't any sort of answer at all, but then, her ears straining, Alicia hears his footsteps retreating, and for a second she thinks of taking the makeshift blindfold off, or just pulling it down to peek—but she doesn't.

She stays there, tapping her fingers against her thighs, listening to Will's movements around the tiny apartment, and then she hears him approaching again, and feels the couch cushion sinking as he sits down.

His fingers are feather-light against her hair as he unties the tie, and Alicia blinks, the room overly-bright for a moment as her pupils adjust, and then she looks down at the table and blinks, because all of her textbooks, her notebooks—they're all gone.

So are Will's, and she stares at the table for another second before turning to Will. "Will, what—"

"We're taking a break," Will says firmly. "No, Alicia, hear me out—at this point, you know this stuff backwards and forwards. You could probably recite all of it in Latin and Greek if you had to. Studying any more than we already have is just going to leave us frustrated, and tired, and probably in worse shape."

"So you blindfolded me and stole my books," Alicia finishes. "And then you hid them."

"Yeah, basically." Will's grinning at her like he knows she's going to let this slide, and the thing is, even though Alicia had a plan for tonight and that plan didn't include blowing off her studies and the reason she even studies with Will in the first place is because he's normally as focused as she is—Alicia knows he's right, she is going to let this slide and go along with his plan.

Part of that is because her head is swimming right now, and she's hit the stage of dull exhaustion where she honestly can't tell if all this reviewing is doing any good anymore. But, and Alicia can be honest enough to admit this—part of it is just because it's not that easy, saying no to Will Gardner.

So she leans back into the couch, waves her hand and says, "Fine, hold my books hostage, I won't try and stop you."

Will grins at her, and Alicia smiles back. "C'mon, I'll make you dinner." Alicia's skeptical look gets Will to laugh and admit, "Fine, okay, I'm going to microwave dinner." He heads over to the kitchenette, opens the fridge, and frowns. "Or I would, if there was anything in this fridge to heat up."

"Oh no," Alicia groans. "Did we forget to buy groceries again?" During Alicia's first semester at Georgetown, there was this persistent rumor about some third-year student who ignored his diet to the point where he got actual scurvy and had to be hospitalized. Alicia's fairly sure that the rumor's not true, but by this point she can actually see how it could happen.

"Yep," Will confirms. He shuts the refrigerator door with a snap and asks, "Okay, you in the mood for pizza or Chinese?"

"Pizza," Alicia says after a moment. "I've got a craving for grease," she adds with a shrug, and Will heads for the phone, because he's got the number to the pizza delivery place memorized, and so does she.

The pizza arrives, and they eat it on the couch, Will turning on their tiny TV to find something to watch. Finally he settles on a Celtics game, glancing at her to make sure she's all right with it. Alicia curls up in a corner of the couch while Will gestures and groans at the TV at every missed shot.

She tucks her feet behind her as she finishes off her second slice, wiping her greasy hands on a paper napkin. After a while, she settles back into the couch cushions, and when her eyes start to grow heavy, she halfheartedly tries to fight it off.

She wakes up a few hours later with a blanket covering her, and her feet are in Will's lap. He's watching the news, his hand absently curled around her ankle.

Alicia looks up at him for a moment, studying his profile, the curve of his mouth. "Hi," she finally says, her voice still blurry from sleep.

Will turns to look at her, his gaze fond. "Hey. Did you have a good nap?"

"I should probably get back to studying," Alicia says, and Will just looks at her.

"Or you could get a good night's sleep, for once," he counters.

Alicia considers it. "Yeah, I could," she finally agrees, and Will smiles at her as she settles back into the couch, and it ends up being one of the last things Alicia sees before she goes back to sleep.

 

 ****

two: colleagues

"Please don't say I'm glowing," Alicia asks as they approach their table. "It's beyond cliché at this point, Will, really."

He chuckles. "Okay, I won't. But pregnancy does look good on you." Alicia smiles but doesn't respond; it's something she's been hearing a lot since she started to show, but part of her is still not convinced people aren't saying it just to be nice, just because it's the thing you say when a pregnant woman walks into the room, stomach first.

Will pulls out her chair for her, and Alicia gratefully—if slowly and awkwardly—sits down. Sitting down these days takes an extra bit of negotiation with her body, her center of gravity, and whatever she happens to be sitting on.

Will takes his seat across the table, and gestures at her. "So...how's all that going?"

Alicia raises an eyebrow. "You mean my pregnancy?" she clarifies, and Will looks sheepish. "It's going well, thank you."

And that's all true, but it's not exactly what Alicia came to lunch to talk about. She's happy about the baby, of course—so happy, in fact, that it's almost nerve-wracking—but at the same time, everyone she meets these days wants to ask her about the due date or the sex of the baby or share pregnancy stories, and while Alicia appreciates it—or at least tells herself that she does—she also would like a break from it every once in a while.

So she clears her throat and asks, "How are the depositions going on the Wiley-Maxfield class action?"

"They're exhausting," Will tells her with a laugh, but cuts himself off as the waiter approaches. Will goes for the fish, and raises an eyebrow when she asks for a steak, rare. She smiles at him as the waiter goes off, and doesn't say that with the way her appetite and cravings are going these days, he's lucky she's not asking for anything stranger. As it is, she's got a fruit salad in a Tupperware container in her bag, should she get a sudden craving for fresh fruit.

They go back to talking shop, Alicia talking about second-chairing a case with one of the partners and the gymnastics they'd gone through in pretrial motions. What Alicia doesn't say is that she's working twice as hard now, all to get ready for her maternity leave.

"Are you going to the fundraiser next week?" Will asks at one point, and Alicia shakes her head.

"No, I think I'm going to stay in that night," she admits. "Getting all dressed up and going out just to listen to a bunch of boring speeches—not so much my thing right now."

That's a gross understatement, in fact—right now, the thought of trying to find a flattering dress that won't draw even more attention to her stomach, a pair of shoes that'll look good and not kill her swollen feet, going to a crowded ballroom where everyone in the legal world in Chicago will be remarking on her stomach, her supposed 'glow,' and somehow not on the fact that in the last two months, she's had more billable hours than any other associate at the firm.

Alicia's probably being a little petty with that last part, but at the same time, right now staying at home is infinitely more appealing. Maybe a rare night on the couch, watching a movie while Peter rubs her feet. He's getting good at the footrubs these days—God knows he's getting enough practice.

"Too bad," Will's saying now. "You'll be missing a great night out—I hear there's going to be a poetry recital." The fake excitement in his voice has Alicia snickering.

"I think I'll leave the poetry to you, thanks all the same," she responds, and Will shrugs as if to say, _your loss_ , but he's grinning.

Speaking of excitement, the baby's decided that now is the best time to start drumming against her ribs. Alicia's gotten used to the kicking by now, but when it's particularly energetic, like right now, she can't help the wince, the reflexive move of her hand to her stomach.

Will notices, of course. "You all right?"

"Oh, I'm fine," Alicia says, waving him off, and when the crease between his eyebrows doesn't disappear, she elaborates. "The baby's kicking," she says with a shrug.

"Oh," Will says. "Does that—usually happen when you have steak?"

Alicia smiles. "So far, he hasn't seen fit to give me a schedule, although—" she winces again at a particularly robust kick, "—it might be nice if he did. God, at this point, I'm actually hoping he becomes a soccer player. That way, my ribs won't have suffered in vain."

"Oh God, don't doom the poor kid to that kind of fate," Will groans theatrically, and Alicia laughs. Will's dislike of soccer—and that's a generous understatement—has been legendary ever since college.

The baby's kicks start to settle down, and Alicia's hand rubs at her stomach, almost unconsciously—and she looks up for a moment to see Will studying her. For a second, Alicia wonders what he sees—she's turned out to be the sort of woman who looks really pregnant, and the changes are everywhere—the roundness of her face, the high necklines she's had to resort to in an effort to keep from flashing everyone in sight when she bends over.

She wonders if he's comparing her now to the student she was just a couple years ago, and wondering how they ended up here so fast. God knows there are times she's left wondering the exact same thing.

But then Will comes out of it and tells her about some gossip he'd heard the day before, and Alicia's chiming in with the news she's heard lately, and before either of them quite realize it, the waiter's come back, asking if they would like dessert.

Will checks his watch. "We've got time, you want to split something?"

And most times Alicia would resist, except really—the opening's right there. "Will," she says with a grin, gesturing down at herself, "I'm seven months pregnant. As far as I'm concerned, you can get your own dessert."

 

 ****

three: old acquaintances

It takes Alicia longer than it should to spot Will in the crowd. It's understandable, she hasn't seen him in—God, it's been too long. But here he is now, at this black-and-white charity ball, sitting next to a pretty woman Alicia doesn't recognize. Alicia's by herself for a rare moment, sipping at her champagne while Peter works the room, and that's when she sees Will at his table.

He looks good, polished. Alicia heard about him making partner at Stern and Lockhart, and she'd meant to call and tell him congratulations, but between Grace's sore throat that turned out to be strep, Zach's elementary school play, and gearing up for the holidays, she just—hadn't found the time.

And maybe there was something she hadn't wanted to look at too closely, a twinge at hearing of Will's success, and maybe wondering if she'd—

Alicia shakes her head, clearing it, and that's when Will glances over and spots her. Alicia smiles and waves her hand at him, but before she can go over, she's approached by another one of Peter's colleagues and gets roped into a conversation about the latest exhibition at the Art Institute, of all things.

"Really, it'll just open your mind," Evan's insisting, his hands waving energetically—Alicia would bet he's had several more glasses of the excellent champagne than she has—and Alicia's nodding politely and trying to think of an excuse to walk out, when all of a sudden Will's next to them, a polite smile on his face as he cuts in.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," he says smoothly, a charming smile on his face, "—but if I could just steal Mrs. Florrick away for a second—"

Alicia takes his hand with relief and walks away with him, Will explaining in an undertone, "You looked like you needed a rescue back there."

"I did, thank you," Alicia admits with a laugh, looking at him. "Will, it's—it's really good to see you. You look great."

"Not as great as you look," Will replies, and Alicia laughs.

"Oh, it's nice to have an excuse to dress up," she says, self-deprecating. "And I heard about you making partner—Will, congratulations, that's fantastic."

He ducks his head, smiling. "Thank you, it—okay, do you mind if I'm not actually humble about this? Because I've been wanting to brag about it for—ages, actually, and you know how it goes—"

Alicia laughs, waving a hand. "Please, feel free to brag away."

"Then it feels pretty damn fantastic," Will finishes, laughing too. "And how have you been doing—the kids, they're doing okay?"

"Zach and Grace," Alicia confirms with a nod. "They're doing fine, excited for the holidays."

It feels strangely—surreal to be talking like this, to be dressed in her black gown, Will in his tux, making small talk about her kids, his job. For a second, Alicia feels this odd sort of...disconnect, and she thinks Will feels it too.

"This is weird, isn't it?" he asks, cutting to the heart of the matter.

"A little bit, yeah," Alicia concedes with a small laugh. "But it is good to see you, it's—been a while. Too long."

"Yeah," Will agrees, a corner of his mouth turning up. "It has."

Alicia looks at him for a moment. "Come sit with us at our table," she offers suddenly. "We can move the seats around—there were two no-shows, Andrew Bernstein's wife went into labor, and it—I'd like to catch up."

Will looks at her for a moment, and then a slow smile spreads across his face. "Yeah. Yeah, okay, that sounds like a great idea, actually."

But after Will and his date Melissa move to their table, Alicia doesn't get as much time to talk to Will as she would like. There are ten to twelve people at their table alone, and even more people circle around it, mostly to talk to Peter.

By the time the night's over, Alicia hasn't gotten to say more than fifteen words to Will throughout the evening, and she and Peter have to leave early to pick up the kids from their grandparents' house.

"We'll do lunch," Will offers, but it's with a bit of a ruefulness, and Alicia knows that they probably won't, and knows that Will's as aware of that fact as she is.

"Definitely," she says, giving him one last smile, and then she's headed for home, her arm tucked in Peter's.

"Haven't seen Will in a while," Peter remarks as they head for the car, Alicia picking her way down the street carefully in her heels. "It was good to see him again."

This is a polite bit of fiction on Peter's part, Alicia's very aware of the fact that he and Will...have never quite clicked, to put it mildly. But she smiles at him and agrees, sincerely, "Yeah. It was."

 

 ****

four: old acquaintances, redux

Alicia agonizes over the email, short as it is. In one sense, she knows she doesn't need to—Will was the one to send the first email, after all, and this is just her replying to him.

But that doesn't stop her from rewriting her email at least three times before finally sending it. It's still short, assuring him that she's doing fine, and asking if they can meet up sometime this week.

She gets a reply before dinnertime.

 _How do you feel about burgers? Let me know if you can meet up around 1 tomorrow. Will._

*

She's relieved that Will doesn't invite her to a more...high-end restaurant. Instead, he sends her the address of a low-key burger joint, with checkered tablecloths and an honest-to-God jukebox in a corner. For half a second, Alicia wonders if Will's invited her here because there's less of a chance of him being seen with Peter Florrick's humiliated wife, of being connected to the scandal that's engulfed her entire life—

She cuts the thought off as soon as it's entered her head, because it's unfair, and unkind. But it's not until she sees Will waiting for her at a table, sees the smile spread across his face as he sees her—it's not until then that some of the tension unravels in her stomach.

She gives him a brief hug and sits down at the table. "Hope you don't mind coming here," Will says. "But this place has some of the best burgers in Chicago."

Will waits until the waitress takes their order to ask, sincere, "How are you doing, Alicia?"

She gives him a small smile. "I'm doing fine." Will just looks at her patiently, and she swallows and admits, "Actually—that's sort of what I wanted to talk to you about."

"Okay," Will says, setting his elbows on the table. "What's going on?"

She'd meant to lead up to this gracefully. She'd meant to cover up her troubles with small talk, with questions as to how he's doing, if he's heard from any of their old classmates, before coming to her request. But right now, just this once...she doesn't have it in her to pretend.

"I need a job," Alicia says, blunt. "With the trial, and the lawyer's fees, and—I need a job," she says again, but God, that's not the half of it, watching their bank accounts dwindle, putting the house on the market, even worse, not having the house sell in this market.

Sitting alone in the kitchen of her new apartment, with absolutely nothing to do, nowhere to go.

"So I thought...I thought you might have heard of an opening, somewhere at a firm..." Alicia says, her voice trailing off.

Will looks at her, and then says, "Yeah, I know of an opening. At my firm."

Alicia blinks. "Will—" she starts, but Will's holding up a hand and saying, "Alicia, I'm serious. We've got an opening for a junior associate position, and you're more than qualified."

Alicia looks down and nods, her throat tight. "Will, I—don't know what to say."

"Don't say anything," Will says, and she can hear the smile in his voice. "Just help me eat those fries." Alicia looks up, and there's the waitress approaching, holding their trays of food.

"Okay," she says, and this time, it's easy to smile. "I can do that."

 

 ****

five: colleagues, redux

"All right," Will says with a sigh, rubbing at his face fretfully. "I'm making it official, we're taking a break."

"That's fine with me," Alicia says with a sigh, rolling her head back and forth, trying to work the kinks out of her neck and shoulders. It's another late night at the office, away from the kids and home, and the small comfort is that Will's office couch is much more comfortable than any of the furniture in her office.

Will's already on his feet, poking through the mini-fridge. Without straightening up, he calls over his shoulder, "Do you want some fruit?"

"Fruit?" Alicia echoes, surprised. "Um, yeah, sure. Since when do you eat fruit?"

Will shrugs and tosses her an orange. "My doctor keeps nagging me to eat healthy. Figured it was time I started listening."

Alicia smiles and starts to peel the orange. "So you finally stopped eating like a college student?"

Will laughs as he sits down next to her again, an apple in his hand. "Yup. I even learned how to cook for myself."

Alicia raises an eyebrow at him. "You mean without using the microwave? That, I'd actually like to see."

Will turns to look at her, eyebrows raised in return. "Oh, yeah? I'll cook for you sometime, prove it to you." He pauses at that, like he's just realized that could be—misconstrued.

And Alicia—she wishes suddenly that this wouldn't happen, that they wouldn't keep bumping up against that same old line, the line that says they can be this comfortable with each other, this close, but no further.

But there's a reason why that line's there, and all Alicia has to do is touch the smooth metal of her wedding band, warm from her skin, to remind herself why.

So Alicia just looks away, pops a slice of the orange into her mouth, and says, "Yeah, you should." Once she's swallowed the slice, she turns to him and says with a smile, "Because that's the only way I'm going to believe it."

Will smiles back at her, and the tension is gone, as if it had never existed at all.

 

 ****

six: couple

Alicia eats a forkful of the pasta, and blinks in surprise. "Okay, so you actually _can_ cook."

It's an old, running gag with them by this point, and Will's grin is a little bit smug as he leans back in his seat. "Told you."

Alicia continues to eat the dinner that Will's cooked for them, enjoying every single bite of it. "I'll admit, it's nice to have a home-cooked meal that I didn't make."

"And that's why I wanted to cook for you," Will says.

Alicia looks up from her plate at that, and asks softly, "That's the only reason?"

Will's smile turns a little bit crooked. "One of the reasons," he corrects himself. He's quiet for a moment, and then says, "I'm glad we're doing this."

"Me too," Alicia says, and it's true. For every moment of doubt—and there are a lot of those—she also has moments when she's sure she's doing the right thing, moments when she'll look at her bare left hand and feel a sense of relief. Moments when she looks at Will, the way she's looking at him right now, and just—lets herself feel this. Lets herself feel—however she wants to feel about him.

Alicia drops her eyes back to her plate and says, "If you keep cooking like this, I'm going to end up coming here a lot more often."

"Then I'm going to cook more often," Will replies immediately.

*

Alicia clears the table and starts washing the dishes. Will offers to help, but she waves him off.

She's scrubbing out one of the wine glasses, her hands steeped in warm, soapy water, when Will comes in from behind, his hand light on the small of her back. "Hey," he says softly into her ear, and Alicia twists around until she's facing him, his arms on either side of her.

"Hey," she replies, smiling up at him. Will doesn't smile back, though, his face oddly—intent, and Alicia realizes he's going to lean in and kiss her only a second before he does it.

Alicia sighs against his mouth, resting her hands on his shirt, forgetting for the moment that they're still soaking wet and dripping suds. Will keeps kissing her until she's breathless, finally pulling away to ask softly, his forehead still resting against hers, "Stay here tonight."

The kids are staying at Peter's place for the weekend. She doesn't have to go into work tomorrow, and neither does Will. For tonight, Alicia can do...exactly as she likes, whatever she likes.

And to herself, she can admit it—part of Alicia's been hoping that he'd ask her this very question.

"Okay," she murmurs, her lips just barely brushing against his. "I'll stay."

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from the song "All That Jazz" from the Chicago soundtrack. Major thanks to my beta kmousie for her edits and imput.


End file.
